


UN-Love You

by savaged



Category: Football RPF
Genre: 30 Day OTP Challenge, FC Barcelona, M/M, Short Chapters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-13 08:34:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 7,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2144076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/savaged/pseuds/savaged
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Expecting a totally chill evening with the new kid of the team, Leo receives a weird guest; one he had wanted to let go weeks ago from his mind. More like rivals to the eyes of the press and acquaintances, a dysfunctional pair that love to love-hate each other, and the story of the particular night when their whole world collapses.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You were right about me.

**Author's Note:**

> Somehow, I'd like to relate this work to Flume & Chet faker's song called 'Drop The Game'. So I'd need you to go check it out if you'd like, and play it while you read along these lines :)
> 
> Enjoy!  
> xox

 

 

His eyes follow the quick, speeding movements of the pair of legs. An ugly tattoo on his left calf, he looks small even in the blue and burgundy kit. He looks ridiculous.

There hasn't been much interaction between them these last months. They just see each other on flat TV screens, newspapers, fashion magazines. That last one not for Leo, though he has seen the ads with Ronaldo there, smiling down at common passers-by. He almost gets run by a car the past week because of that, and hasn't recovered himself from the missed call on his phone.

There's the voice message, also.

And this crack in his statements, the constant throbbing of doubt in his mind, a swollen lip from the chewing. Hours of practice, medication, a controlled diet, chill sundays, the soft breeze of Barcelona, damp kisses. Warm water splashing when his feet dip in and sand revolves around them. Work to do, money to earn and spend, matches to watch. There's talented Cristiano and his persistent, shameless self, who's the same on the field as tonight at his door.

There's this crisis breaking apart his reason, accomplishing certain expectation, giving him a hard time to distinguish between what's in reality and what's in the representations drawn in his mind.


	2. I was wrong about you.

  
"I grabbed some time and passed by. You can deal with it or let me go."

The eyebrows raising slightly, the doubt written at the small quirk of his lips opening and closing, the sound of a buzzing phone, TV on in the background. There's nothing familiar about it; only Leo's confused face in front of him and his hand tugging at the neck of his orange shirt. What in the name of God is he wearing, anyway?

What is he even _doing_ standing at Lionel's house? What did he think he could get from it? Maybe it's the same thing both question once Leo steps out and walks to a side of Cris.

He leans against the wall and lets his back slide down pushing his fists into his pockets, sighing, touching the ground with his bottom and spreading his legs wide.

Cris stares at the moon, too many things unsaid. Then back, past isn't over for them yet.

"Didn't think you would come" Lionel licks his lips. A pause. "Never thought you would come. Wow."


	3. This (doesn't) cancel out the hurt.

 

Cris shrugs and clicks his tongue, "I think I missed you," he throws his shoulders back saying it like it's an excuse for an unfair yellow card, like he has broken something and has been caught while walking away. "I wouldn't have come, because we're pretty far from each other." He seeks Leo's stare but doesn't find it, "besides I called you. I thought you'd check your voice mail."

He recalls the bottle of beer slowly warming up at the feet of his couch. "Yeah, well, I didn't." Leo kicks himself up.

"Hey" Ronaldo freaks out watching him re-enter the house and tries to stop him, "wait, why? Leo-"

Lionel opens the door completely for him to see. A young brazilian kid with folded legs wearing short pants glances up, opening wide his bright-colored eyes, as a bottle of beer slips from his hand and falls to the floor shattering in pieces before the sight of the newcomer, and the liquid doesn't wait a second to spread under his feet and around the long leather sofa.

"Hey."

 


	4. I need to want you.

 

_Caralho_. It's almost as if he has peed himself. The guy looks up with a jaded smile and shakes his head laughing, then stands up.

He has spent the afternoon watching -and ignoring- Barça's matches; him being practically new to the team. But to be honest, the only thing he has learned is the way Leo's breathing hitches whenever the team scores, and that he curses a lot at the lost chance of a perfect goal. Also, the small gestures when he speaks and the combined slur of argentine and spanish accent, and the tug of his lip to a side when he smiles have conformed all the knowledge he's gotten. Pretty worth it, he comes to think of.

"I'm pleased to meet you," he greets the taller guy. "I'm-"

"É um prazer," Cristiano frowns upon the hand extended to him and refuses to take it. Instead, he hugs Neymar and keeps him steady for some long seconds under the glare of Messi in a tight embrace, and they go apart because of Ney's awkwardness and lack of trust.

"Leo's friends are my friends" Cris states matter-of-factly.

"Right," Neymar raises his eyebrows, folding his arms. "Ah- Sorry, I didn't know you were coming."

"Neither did I." Cristiano furrows his brow looking back at Leo for any kind of explanation.

"Neither did _I_ , Cris. Can I talk to you for a second? In the kitchen?"

"Yeah." A wall tumbles down inside Cristiano's chest and once they reach the counter, Leo turns around concerned and takes a deep breath, making sure Neymar isn't -innocently- following them.

"Where's Thiaguinho?" Cris approaches and leans on the table set in front of the kitchen's sink. The color palette of the room's warm; coffee, wine and white chocolate. 

"We left him and Davi Lucca at my mom's. Ever wonder why?"

It hits Cris like a barbed iron, and he even steps back due to the projection of Leo's words.

"So you could spend the night here with" Cristiano points out, "that kid?"

Leo turns around giving him his back. "He's my new partner. We gotta hang out, know each other, talk. Just like when you like people? Actually like them?"

Cris rests his arms on the counter positioning himself behind him, and therefore surrounds the shorter guy, huffing exhaustedly into his neck. "Look, Leo." Lionel bows his head down when he hears his name. "You need to want this." Cristiano places his lips on the back of the orange shirt, nonchalant, between his tensed shoulders. He feels him relax, unwind and loose grip as the shirt smoothens. 

Silence takes a break, and there are these words that Cris pushes into Leo's ears that Neymar can't quite make out, listening from the other side of the wall next to the arcade.

 


	5. You can be like me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!  
> If you have reached this point, I want you to know that you're an amazing reader. Maybe my favorite. Who knows? ;)

 

Crickets unite in a chorus around each window outside, attracted by the soft lights of the rooms. It creates a night melody matching the mellow, right when Neymar sits down throwing himself on top of the couch.

He gets lost in the reflection of the TV in the smeared beer and doesn't take any time to dwell on... Well, he doesn't know how to put words to it. Clearly anxious, he picks up his phone and checks the time, weather and possible places to be right now instead of at Leo's house, waiting for him to come from the kitchen with his love affair.

God, it's awkward. He thought Leo had this affection for friends and family that wouldn't take him to cheat with anyone, but then again, who's he cheating? Who's he hurting? Hasn't Neymar himself dickered around his Arsenal's team mates? He lets a big gulp of air out he didn't know he had been holding in, and recalls late night travels by bus, spa sessions and hot pools at the top of terraces in Rio. Nostalgia kicks in.

The time flows slow and unnatural for him. It's just Leo and Cris. His new mantra repeats itself like a heart beat, 'cause  _it's just them, nothing else._

But it's not just them. 

It's brands, the press, the UEFA, the fans, the public, almost everything telling them they're supposed to be against each other, it's what is _expected_. And then there they are, probably sharing lips in some corner of the kitchen of the house instead, and Neymar wants to be swallowed by Earth and doesn't know where the hell to go to.

What he can't see is Leo's face turning away from Cristiano's once their eyes encounter. He's not brave enough to face it, to defy the rough order, to defy the sharp stare piercing his cheeks, his chin, his mouth. To connect to it. He's not brave enough. He wants to be.

"We can be like this," is all that Cristiano words.


	6. I want to need you.

 

Neymar bounces in the couch at the sound of dragged footsteps. The brazilian takes in count the expensive, fancy cologne coming back to him and sees Cristiano falling besides his spot of the couch. 

"It's the two of us now."

Neymar looks at him frightened. Cris waves the remote control around. "What channel?"

"Um... I don't know. Is Leo coming back?" the guy peers over his shoulder but can't see Lionel figure anywhere near them. 

"No, I don't think so." He changes until he finds ESPN and lies back, spreading his legs. His white shirt contrasts with the color of his skin and snaps open at his chest.

Neymar can just pretend to not stare.

-

"Can you take him out of here? I can't deal with both of them, and Ney's just... He's just awkward around him, and believe me I get it."

"No, no, no, this is _amazing_. Think of it as the perfect chance to face things and talk straight to Ronaldo of how you feel about him."

Messi winces. "What?"

"Yes. You hate him, don't you?"

The man hears a sigh on the phone line and Leo then talks. "It isn't like that, press overreacts... I don't hate him."

"Yeah and I'm not good at playing football, press _overreacts_. I mean, he thinks he can knock your door, pretend it's okay to stay, eat your food, creep out your guests. You better show that guy who's king, Leo. Kick his ass out of there."

"Yeah, well... I wasn't talking about Cris."

" _Cris_." Lionel can almost see the frown in Pep's face from miles away. "He'll go by 'the bitch' starting now, okay? So it's the bitch or Neymar. One needs to leave or don't call me at all."

"Are you seriously gonna make me do this?"

"Well, no. Not me. It's gonna be you. Who do you need to stay?"

The home screen of the cellphone locks after a minute runs. There's a photo of him and Thiago in the home screen, and his Adam's apple bobbing up and down in the black reflection of it.

 


	7. Prove it. [Memory]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as the title of the chapter says, this IS a memory.  
> Enjoy :)

 

Snow fell backwards and towards the dark violet skies. 

Time floated static in the air, between the clouds above the foam and the water surrounding their bodies inside the bathtub. It blurred their sight, dampened their hair -especially Cristiano's,- and he looked so damn cute when he smiled back at Leo, not knowing a thing, getting pink colored bubbles upon his chest.

He had Leo curled up between his legs, facing him as each lied on one of the endings of the tub, his thighs tensed with the weight of Leo's small feet and calves.

"How was practice today?"

The other tilted his head to a side, half-lidded eyes and a torn smirk. "Good. I'd appreciate if you called once in a while. You're pretty random."

"Yeah, I am." 

Cris ran the palm of his hand through Lionel's leg, underwater. It smelled like roses and vanilla from the candles spread on the floor, and the shimmering little flames lit up their pupils when they stared at each other. His hands reached the most intimate part of him, and starts grew bright in his mind.

"What was your middle name, again?"

"Andrés," he scanned Ronaldo with confusion. "Why?"

"It sounds beautiful when you say it." 

"God," Lionel looks away embarrassed, "you _are_ random. You don't need to prove it to me, y'know? I'll believe it."


	8. I'm cruel. [Memory]

 

Neymar leaned his head back against the car seat, searching for appropriate words to express himself. "That felt good."

"You're welcome." Lionel turned the ignition on and watched the landscape turn into hundreds of different shades of violet by the rearview. The vehicle left the park behind, and after a couple of miles it turned left in a curve.

They kept silence. Their profiles, the postures of long drives, the imminent pike of a mountain of euphoria they had passed too suddenly. The ball they left rolling across the esplanade of grass at the nearest field for the kids to play football. All gone at the same minute they reached Leo's beautiful home, wide open garage.

"I go there sometimes. It's good for the head, helps clearing up."

Neymar nodded entering the residence, Leo following him with a messed up look. "Yeah, the air and all feels different there. Good for training, you should call our coach about it."

"Hush" Neymar had Leo's lips hovering his in less than he could expect, "about it." The football player grinned and teasing him, strolling to the couch. He sat down turning the TV on. "So..."

Expectation grew big in the brazilian.

"What d'you wanna watch, Ney?"


	9. Always wondered what this'd be like.

 

Their voices go low once they acknowledge Leo's presence in the living room. The man carries a bag of popcorn with himself and sits down between them, on the spot they left empty in the couch. He had wondered how this'd be like.

He munches like nothing's going on and offers Neymar some white stuff. The brazilian's oblivious to the offer and stares confused at him, so Lionel turns to Ronaldo, getting the same reaction. They're notoriously tense and straight, and Leo tries to make up for it like nothing's going on.

"What's with you two? We were supposed to watch the m-" Cris puts a finger over his lips while glaring at Neymar.

"Watch this," he tells him in portuguese, and smiles jokingly. Then he forces Lionel into a hushing kiss.


	10. I'm broken.

 

And sometimes he feels like a whole bunch of promises. A bag of not being good enough to cope with their expectation. A word in their mouths, like he's some kind of myth and that's that. He's not even his name anymore. He doesn't feel it's his. He feels it belongs to them. He feel he belongs to them. 

He chokes on the popcorn, eyes wide open because Neymar's staring.

Slowly backing off he keeps chewing, too anxious to even keep faking nonchalance when his hands start to tremble. The contents of his stomach twist and menace to come back to where they came from. He looks at Ney from the corner of his eye, expecting the drop of his reactions.

The kid has cleaned the beer on the floor with his own jacket. He's notoriously abandoned and isolated, and stands up slowly saying "I..." ignoring Cristiano's joy, "I should go now. It's pretty late, sorry to interrupt you guys."

Lionel shoves the bag into Cristiano and tugs at Neymar's shirt to make him sit down, but the boy refuses, picking his wet dirty jacket from the floor. "Need to go, Leo. Let go."

"Yeah, let go of him, he wants to leave," Cris interferes.

"You shut up-" Leo attacks, "what do you think you're doing? Stay, Ney, c'mon! We can watch a movie..."

"I made a mistake coming here." The brazilian shakes his head walking towards the entrance, checking for his cellphone in the pocket of his short pants. "Sorry, Leo" he opens the door and doesn't look back. Doesn't need to; Lionel's worried, frustrated face appears seconds later in the porch yelling at him.

"Just ignore him!"

"I can't ignore that guy being with you right now." Neymar steps on the middle of the street making a call, supposedly to who'd come for him afterwards. "Don't worry. Aye. It's all good, man. I'll leave you two alone."

"This isn't a fucking _date_ , he's just messing around with you, I-"

"I hope he's not doing the same with you, Leo. I'm out."


	11. Thought I needed this.

 

"I want you out of here."

"What?"

"Now."

Cristiano stands up smirking and opens his arms.

"You wanted _him_ out. You want me to be here more than what you want me out, trust me."

When he's dodging players and has the ball at his feet he looks the same, Lionel thinks to himself closing the door with the keys behind him. The darkness coming from the outside won't cover the stars in the clean sky, like the TV sounds won't block Lionel's words. 

"I thought I wanted this, that's the thing you don't understand. You've been pushing me too far, Cris... We can't work out, do you understand? I've got friends, I've got a life I like here, I've got things to do. There's no place for you in the middle, even though I thought _I wanted this_."

"Maybe I'm not what you want." Cristiano raises his eyebrows and licks his lips stepping forwards him, away from the couch and the popcorn thrown all over, the mess they made. He stands in front of Leo, putting his hands to the sides of his shoulders in an attempt to comfort him and speaks from the knowledge he conserves about the shorter man trying to catch a spark from the fire off. "Maybe I'm what you need."

 


	12. I'm drunk. [Memory]

 

Nothing resembled the swollen damp lips he'd been biting, but sure as heck the neon lights matched his movements and the rhythm of the dance music, as well with the color of that tanned skin. 

Not a feel in the world that night like that he got being with this guy. Getting drunk was maybe not the best idea ever once he realized who was it, but that's when he was facing the wall getting felt up and everything around him spun. He hadn't had the chance to tell him to stop. To be honest, who would have? Cris was a magnet, a tall, fancy one. He was _his_ magnet. And he had wanted to make that clear.

"You're so done. I'm gonna tell everybody about this," Leo chuckled in the middle of messy hugs and amounts of pecks. "Seriously, _boludo_. We'd be so done."

"Shut up," Cristiano laughed hushing Lionel's childish giggles and kept kissing the hollow of his neck, leaving marks that he knew would stay until next week. "You belong to me, fuck the press."

"What if-"

"Let them talk." Yeah. Like he would let that happen. "Besides nothing's wrong if it feels right, Leo. And this," he pulled at the waistband of his jeans to bring the Flea against him, "feels _so_ right."

Their eyes met, their mouth collided. Their world bent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> boludo = dude (in argentine spanish, though)


	13. I want to hurt you.

 

A fist grabs the cloth over his chest and Cris winces, unable to control Leo or say anything before he slaps him across the face shoving him away. Leo's gone fully red and jerks his head, wanting to gesticulate with his hands but holding himself down and moving his shoulders a lot, instead. Cris can't feel there's something to do about it, so he gets quiet, waits and listens patiently to the loud rant of the shorter man. 

"Why the FUCK would you come back to ruin all, huh? 'Cause THAT's exactly what you're doing here, I told you to back off before you fucking scared him, Cristiano, I told you, I... And even in this precise moment when everything was going so well and finally icouldgettoforgetyou" Lionel kicked the coffee table before the couch, shattering a corner of the glass surface into little pieces. He looked up and pointed a finger at him, "you."

"Me? What did I do?"

"I'll kill you, that's it. You've ruined my life. I almost get run by a car the other night, I can't- I just can't keep up with you. I'll kill you. No, wait."

Cristiano raises his eyebrows and isn't sure if he should laugh or squint.

"I'll get a restraint order" Messi says, but he gets chuckled at, and Ronaldo walks up to him and surrounds his waist with strong arms.

"You think a cop will keep me away from doing this? You're right if you want to kill me." Cristiano presses his lips into Leo's dark hairs. "Fuck, you're so right." 


	14. I'm awake and you're breathing.

 

Leo closes his eyes shut. Cris blows a too-long hair bang away from Leo's face, and caresses the line of his jaw sliding one thumb along. "Are you okay now?" 

"No. No it's not okay."

"But are you?" Cristiano asks again biting at his bottom lip, slouching so he can get a better look at Messi's now open eyes. He can understand so much more this way than he does when the other talks.

"Yeah, you are." Leo stays still while Ronaldo lowers his head on his shoulder, practically unwelcome. "You may not know. You may not understand it at this moment, and I hope you will. I came because I wanted to let you know that I love you," he runs his fingers through the back of Lionel's head, messing with his hair, scratching his scalp with his short nails. "And I miss you. In my life. And I think you're awake, and I feel I'm still dreaming. You know? I get anxious, too."

Leo sways on the tip of his feet, almost loosing balance. The grip Cristiano has on him keeps him steady, and he places his lips on Cris' cheekbone, then listens to him for the first time of the night.


	15. This is my desperation in action.

 

"Me, too- No, I'm... I'm sorry." His throat feels dry as he says it, a knot tightens there. "I think I fucked up bad, Cris. We're not okay apart, not even together like this. Sorry."

"Please." Cris' hand takes Lionel's holding on to it like he would hold onto a lifesaver. "Rather be sore than sorry, Leo. C'mon."  A mainstream of childish jealously creeps through him and makes him mutter "did you really want him to stay?" at which Lionel sighs and breaks the hug, grabbing his cellphone. Cris watches him type on the screen for what looks like minutes.

He then walks to the kitchen counter and stuffs his car keys in the pocket of his jeans with quick movements, then back to the living room, pulling at the neck of his orange shirt, turning off lights of rooms he walks past by.

"So... What do we do now?" Cris voices sounds cautious but echoing through the house while putting his hands inside his pockets.

"We get the hell out of here before Football Club Barcelona comes to kill you." Leo turns to him. "Oh, and that's not including Neymar. He just ran away 'cause you apparently don't know how to deal with decent people, like him or like me."

Cris smiles. "Where are we going?"

"You'll find out."


	16. I want to break you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it's a good time to stop and go play Bon Iver - Flume (Kulkid Remix) in the background while you start to read this.

 

Two missed calls from _Pep_.

**'I called neymar how you wanted me to. He won't answer, any idea?'**

One missed call from _Marc_. Two new messages from _Marc_.

**'I've been trying to reach you for the last half hour. are you with ney?'**

**'he called me. nevermind. heading to your house right now'**

Leo scratches his temple, then gazes at the profile to his right and sees Cris doing the same, elbow resting on the space between the glass and the car door. Their hands slightly touch when Leo moves the shift knob and their thoughts grow bound to it. Under the moonlight their faces contrast with the darkness surrounding them, and one of them speaks first to leave a question floating in the air.

"Were you serious when you said it?"

Leo pretends to be fully aware of the road and nothing else. He changes speed every now and then, dodging cars, abandoning all hope and reason to change things the way 'round.

"I need to know."

"I don't think I like you anymore," Leo confesses. Blue highway signs pop out of nowhere, highlighting foreign locations to Cris. "Nobody has made me feel this way before."

"You're really weak."

The wheels turn abruptly as the car glides towards what seems like a dead end. There's a closed building at the end of the path; the tall walls made of glass and iron frames.

"You were the one to come back, Cris, and I don't judge you."

"Don't pretend to talk like a grown up man, it doesn't suit your height," Cris looks straight to Lionel and unfastens his seat belt. "A green house? What are we doing here?"

"They'll check in every hotel in town, Cris."

"I like it," he lightens up the near midnight with his trademark smile.

 


	17. Wish I didn't love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's like an undead desire of belonging to something bigger than you are
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sA36JD9ru9U
> 
> enjoy this chapt :)

 

The starry atmosphere feels like long hugs from a person that smells good -that smells like home, whatever that scent is,- and Cris lies upon the ground with his hands laced under his head while the sky reflects on his eyes. He doesn't question it.

The night's mellow is quite soft and fragile, and so he feels the guy lying on his right side is. He wraps an arm around his shoulder trying to make him understand he's finally there for him. All those nights he tried to explain that part of himself getting zero results, zero attention. He leans closer and places his lips on his cheek, not moving from there, staying all Leo needs him to.

Finally there's a soft move. Cris realizes maybe he's wrong. Maybe this thing he feels isn't shared. All those little interactions and doubts that come and go grow terrible and constant, the dark side of being in love.

  
_Being in love_. How wounded he sounds when he repeats it in the back of his mind; he slides his fingers like feathers across Leo's cheek, simply wondering.

And what if this came to be a dream? And what if he wanted to wake up like this, tangled with Leo's messed up stare? Cris slowly forgets to think and holds him closer, enough that there isn't place to keep stopping themselves anymore.

A sudden, fast riffle of wind wakes up surrounding them. Their skin shiver. They need to hug. They needed to hug. Each other. Since the last time Leo saw Cris, and even since before.

"Mind me if I..."

"No." Leo closes his eyes shut. "Just... Just go on." A shared smile.

 


	18. I pity you.

 

"We should drive until the next exit and start again."

Iniesta huffs heavily and turns left in the next exit, as Marc has made explicit twice through the night.

"I don't have time for this, man. Let them be."

"They won't answer my phone" Marc yells with goggling eyes, "I'm so done with taking care of half of the team, but Ney's alone in this, Leo was supposed to take him somewhere and get along."

"And what if they're getting along, like, right now?" Marc looks at Iniesta half confused, half horrified. Andrés shrugs and raises his eyebrows. "What? It's a chance, I'm not judging anyone."

"Andrés, _please_. Lets drive to Ney's house again, just in case they finally got there."

Iniesta pulls the car over to a side of the road. In silence, he unlocks the doors and glances at Marc.

"What?"

"I'm not driving for you anymore. I'm tired."

"You can't be serious, we-"

"Go get some fresh air, man. Let your worries out. Call a cab."


	19. This isn't about you at all.

 

Neymar stares at the seventeen missed calls on the screen of his phone. He calls back, because it's the first thing that crosses his mind and regrets it right away.

"Where the freaking hell were you?"

"My phone battery died," he throws the keys of his house onto the night table and kicks his shoes off. "I'm home."

"What the fuck happened? Where's Leo?"

"Who knows," Neymar jumps into the king sized bed burying his head in the pillow. "With that portuguese douchebag, for sure. He's so spoiled."

"Who?"

Neymar smiles sadly. "A friend of his. Never mind me, Marc. We'll talk tomorrow some more, okay?"

"What about Messi?"

"This isn't about him, Marc. Take care. Bye."

"B-but... Alright?"

Neymar ends the call with bare feet and a broken heart. Time to take a selfie. Blocks across his house Marc throws his arms down in defeat, and flying a couple more of miles further, two lovers lie against each other alone on soft tall grass.


	20. I hate you, you bitch.

 

 Neymar kicks the covers around him, furiously frustrated.

Of course he's able to get cramps at the simple mention of Cristiano Ronaldo.

Of course he's _envious_  of the way his hands might me moving up and down Leo's body, his mind a train of reasons to hit that tall cunt in the face. Not a bit of courtesy when bluntly telling him to 'leave the place' and frown upon him. Who the heck did he think he was? All those fake tans have gotten into his brain, he bets.

Checking his cellphone he sits on the bed and admires the clear sky through the window. He swears to whoever is there, he's gonna win against him in the next match. That's until his phone rings with an unknown number.


	21. You'll do.

 

"I'm sorry."

It's not the usual thing people say first when they call, but it's a start.

"I'm sorry because I wasn't able to be polite towards you. I'm sorry because I'm a jealous person."

"Is he making you say all these things? I don't believe shit." Neymar rests his fists on the windowsill and chuckles. "You're pathetic."

" _You_ are!" Ney can hear a clear, deep voice behind the one on the line and Cristiano going quiet. "Listen," he tries again. "I know myself. I know I can be a pain in the ass, but, Leo, you know, he just... I'm mad that he gets to see you guys more than he gets to see me, understand?"

"Right," Neymar stares at his nails. "What do you want from me? Why do you call?"

"Forgiveness."

"Forgive you? You're forgiven, I don't care. You're a jerk, you're not changing that right now."

"At least I try," Ney hears Ronaldo's sincere answer and closes his eyes, bringing a hand to his temple. "I mean, I'll eventually do."

"Yeah, you'll do."

"Are you mad at me?"

"Not by chance, I'm currently too busy with myself to get mad at _you_ , to begin with."

"Great. Need a lift any day, don't forget to call me. I'll be in Madrid, like always."

"As if," Neymar hangs up. His eyebrows are furrowed but a playful smile is tugging at the corners of his lips. It's likely enough that's all he needs to survive.

 


	22. I hate myself.

 

Leo's silent. It's written above the calmed pace of his breathing, between his teeth. About the way he faces the rose garden behind a tall fence which borders the green house and doesn't look at Cris, maybe because he's embarrassed or slightly changed or his words are weak enough to make him feel ashamed.

Of all the things he wants to whisper to him, there's this one bouncing loud in his mind and he finds the need to sit up, holding Cristiano's hands between his, almost shaking.

"I brought you here because this is the first place that reminded me of my grandmother's garden." He looks away. "She was long gone before seeing me succeed, y'know? She'd turn the world upside down for me, making a ruckus around my friends when I went to Newell's football club to play with the bigger boys." A smile paints his face colors. "And then at her garden, all was so quiet."

Cristiano changes positions wrapping his legs around Leo so now the _f_ _lea_ 's on top of him, resting on Cris' legs. "So this is her garden now, and I'm a big boy."

"Really?" he laughs, loosening up.

"Some things never change," Cris says, and there's a whole amount of truth in only one lonely statement. He goes serious and sucks on the hollow part of Leo's neck, embracing his torso, keeping it to his own.

"I feel so guilty about this sometimes."

"What? Having a good time?"

"Enjoying it this much."

Lionel hums when Cris includes his teeth and bites hard on a piece of shuddering flesh, getting a little yelp as a reward.


	23. You remind me of me.

 

Cristiano feels their physical difference like an advantage. First, because he gets to embrace Leo in every way he has thought possible. Second, because Leo can't stop Cris' hands when he desires, especially when he's seductively tickling him and getting teased.

There's a third reason hidden under their stare when Leo falls against the ground, on his back, and Cris trades kisses from his chin to his collarbones. Cristiano's lips are red and wet and bitten, like the spots he's leaving through Leo's clean pale skin, and Cris isn't sure how's he gonna explain or cover them for the next match, or to appear in front of his friends. The only thing he's sure about is that the grass works as a great mattress when it's all about comfort. Not like Leo's navel or thighs don't feel comfortable enough to be lying on, but the mixed texture tickling his arms and elbows can't compare.

He focuses, and cups Lionel through his underwear. Leo gasps and breathes erroneously, searching for a mouth to bite and get furiously mad at, like a kid who finds no words to express himself since he doesn't know how to talk. He's left with the view of the starry sky, and a head of light brown hairs bobbing up and down, reminding him of sweeter, innocent times.

Incorrect times.

He shakes his head when Cris does that thing running up and down softly his bottom lip, his mouth too busy and full, and looks up with hungry eyes, lifting Leo somewhere higher than the stars.

 

 

 


	24. I want you to hate me.

Just when Leo's reaching up and the void in his mind goes from black to white, Cris stops.

"What?"

Cristiano replaces his mouth with his big, strong hand and strokes Lionel so fondly and rough it's enough to push him through the edge, making him stain his boxers. _New_ boxers, deep blue with red dots. A warm, gluey liquid spreads through the palm of Cris' hand.

Lionel pants between open lips and a hand across his forehead, avoiding the other guy's glare because he's terrified of what he might find there. His blush goes from his cheeks to the back of his neck, his belly raising and falling fast, his legs clutching the tall portuguese. "Hey, I've got some tissues inside the-"

Cris sticks a finger inside Leo's mouth, which he struggles to reject at first but then gives in, licking and biting. If he's done that for him, why not take a finger? Cris just plays with his mouth, pressing his lips together, trying not to smile.

"Are you hungry?"

Car lights pass by like falling stars through the distant road.

"Yeah, you threw my popcorn," Leo talks taking Cris hand between his, taking him out of his mouth. His voice comes out as sleepy, almost soar. Cristiano recalls this is exactly how he sounds when he's drunk. "Why?"

"Get up," Cris pulls from Leo's grip, obliges him to stand up.

"God." Leo pulls his zipper up and fixes his orange shirt, sighing loud for the other to hear. "Do you hate me this much? Give me a break, at least."

"Never. Who would I have to one up, then?"

They look at each other smiling, then Cris looks away first.

 


	25. You remind me of someone.

 

A guy with a pink shirt stands by the side of the road. He has a familiar look on his face, with the dark hair and immense grin, but Leo keeps driving, mind focused on the road.

"Your profile is the same from both sides," Cris comments checking his phone for new messages and licks the corner of his lip. "I could use some of your tissues right now," he says and fetches a pack of strawberry bubble gum from his front pocket. The neck of his shirt is kinda wrinkled -amazing, since it fits just right- and he checks his hair on the rearview, pissing Leo off.

The guy cuts him off putting accidentally his hand on Cris' and huffs, looking to his side.

"Did you bring your hairspray, too?"

"You're mad because I'm beautiful."

"You're Narcissus, there's a thin line."

Lit up buildings start to appear as Cristiano watches through the window and goes silent. He furrows.

"Wasn't that one of your coworkers back there?"

" _Coworker_?" Leo raises one eyebrow. "You mean, Marc?"

"Why didn't you pick him up!?"

"I thought that wasn't him! God, Cris, why didn't you say anything?"

"Since when would I care? You'd have to explain him everything, right. And I'm not up to giving any autographs tonight."

Leo slows down the car. "You really hate them. My teammates, I mean."

"No!"

The car takes a turn and Cristiano folds his arms. "Alright, yes. Yes, I do."


	26. I can't be with you.

  
Marc stares everywhere around him, paying special attention to the now interesting grey shade of the backseat of Leo's car. He doesn't speak too much -weird, as Leo can tell,- and keeps throwing glances at his phone every now and then.

They stop at the rustic restaurant's entrance and a dude dressed in a tuxedo offers him to park the car, and Cristiano gazes Messi in an attempt to eye-kill him. The kind of glare your mother would give you if you talked about your uncle's wig in the middle of a family dinner table.

"What?"

"Oh. Nothing. Just noth-"

"Aye Leo, I really like this place" Marc opens the car door and sets his feet on the gravel. He steps out, taking in the atmosphere.

"This is just great." Cris puts a hand on Leo's shoulder. "Really, just how I hoped to spend my only free night with you."

 


	27. We don't belong.

Lionel enters first with eyebrows furrowed and the waitress immediately points at a table of four. A pair of chairs face the other pair, their covers red velvet with decorations of blue flowers.

"You brought me to a _blaugrana_ restaurant?" Cristiano comes from behind him and the waitress widens her eyes, stepping back.

"It's not part of the club. But barça's everywhere, yeah" Marc walks first to the table and chooses his seat, waiting for Leo and Cris to sit down next to each other. Some people glance at them, some people don't. It doesn't look like the kind of place where common passers-by gather, however. Marc's eyes are probably the most alive of the room, they all just looked bored. "We're going to eat the house steak, right?"

Leo folds a burgundy napkin over his lap and says "actually, I wanted the-"

"Three house steaks," Marc raises three fingers to the waitress as she nods. "Sauvignon blanc" he looks back to expressionless Leo, "right? Yes. Thanks. Come back soon" he smiles with full set of bright white teeth. Cris caresses Leo's thigh from under the table. 'I liked him more when he was quiet' he murmurs into his ear and clears his voice afterwards.

"Say, Cristiano, what brings you around here?"

Cris tilts his head to a side inspecting the boy's face. He's handsome, as good-looking as one of those sculptures of ancient Greece or high fashion models. He also ignores his question and goes straight to it; "what were you doing out on the road?"

"Me? Oh, that. Yeah, I was looking for Leo actually. And Neymar."

Leo gulps. Cristiano puts his fist under his chin, "outside in the middle of _nowhere_ -"

"Ney's alright, we- I called him before, I didn't know Cristiano was coming." The words come out rushed and mixed with a hint of argentine slurr. "How are you doing? How's your family?"

"What's Cristiano doing here?"

The waitress arrives with a fancy bottle of whine inside a glass bucket of ice cubes and lies it softly on the middle of the table. She pours some into each guy's cup and Cris takes his first, leaning the glass to shake its contents. He then lifts it to his mouth and wets his lips with the fine alcohol, closes his eyes and finally nods.

"This is perfect." The waitress smiles and leaves, not before he winks at her. Leo watches. "Marc. I'm here because... I don't belong here. So I come for one night and leave."

"What?"

"Yeah. Don't you have love affairs in other towns around Spain? People here's pretty, say... High-spirited. Violent. Fun. Whatever you look for in someone. Get me?" He hangs an arm around Lionel's shoulders, "and this guy is perfect for that reason. How inconvenient it is to think we're rivals while we get along so well, huh? He'll even take me to a club after dinner. I love Barcelona's girls. Barça's fans are so much cuter than I'd thought." He grins and pecks Leo's cheeks, to what Lionel shakes his head and gets rid of his arm.

"I didn't know you were friends." Marc sips his wine. "That's nice."

"Oh, we're so much more than that. You can't even imagine." Cristiano lets out a loud chuckle and Leo shields himself with the same kind of smile he puts at televised social events. He doesn't belong there. He doesn't belong here.


	28. Not sorry.

"It's as if you were brothers, huh? I knew it all along! You'd be killing each other if it wasn't like that. So, you wouldn't be mad if I went with you to that club tonight, right?"

"Of course not," Cris smiles amused. By his side, a person gulps down half of the contents of his glass cup.

Leo looks everywhere, a flush running through his neck. Cristiano has gotten himself into this, it's not _his_ fault. How can he discuss anything he decides? But whose idea was to bring Marc along? He couldn't leave his teammate alone... _Gosh_ , Marc sure's a shameless idiot. He keeps talking loud with Cristiano and a transparent bubble appears alienating Lionel, who takes out his buzzing cellphone.

A new message from Barça's number 11 that says 'already went for Davi. Thiago's ok and he's sleeping like a little meat ball. he looks soo much like u **'** , and a smiley face at the end. Leo leans back on his chair and laces his hands behind his head, after locking his cellphone and keeping it in his pocket. He's starting to like this kid. Because it makes him feel something surreal; like he belongs there, to the place where Cristiano is not usually at. It's totally wrong. But it feels right.


	29. Want you back.

 

The noise and loud music of an exclusive club at Barcelona's coast make Leo go numb as Cristiano strolls, taking him by the shirt, like he's a casual client and peers over at Marc from while to while. A couple of girls stare, some fanboys simply wave at Cris and Leo as they walk to the VIP section carrying fruit flavored drinks each.

Marc's looking a little dizzy. He isn't used to spirited drinks, Leo can tell from his sport's routine and character, and ditches him in some corner where people wear tuxedos and take diet coke sitting on long scarlet velvet couches. Cristiano seems to ignore Leo behind him, and simply steps out to the enormous lonely deck. They're not sure if it's too early or too late, but the moon settles just above the line of the horizon and reflects both on the blue skin of the sea and on theirs at the same time. Cristiano lies against the railing sighing, even relieved.

"It was good to see you again."

Somewhere a door closes and Davi is profoundly sleeping against the back of his dad.

"I missed you."

Iniesta arrives somewhere with his wife, Pep watches TV, Cris' teammates keep taking selfies of themselves in fancy parties and restaurants. Leo just finds himself falling in love with a guy he met as a rival, and wrapping his arms around his neck.

"Did you know I love you?" he whispers below his ear, causing the scarce hair on Cristiano bristle, though Leo cannot see that. "Like when you love somebody and you hate them for it. Actual messed up stuff, so stupid. And I can't help myself," Leo stands on the tip of his feet and clutches at Cristiano's shoulders.

"Really?" It's the first time of the night -Leo can assure,- that he makes Ronaldo's lips curve into a smile. "Maybe it's mutual. Without the hate part. I don't hate you," he runs his hands down to Lionel's butt cheeks and rubs against him, "I want you. You're the only one who's stopping this."

Leo climbs onto him, so both lean over the rail and are six meters above falling against sand. "So lets change that."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whaaaat! I can't believe I made it this far!  
> thank you guys! omg the kudos and all the comments mean so much to me, you have no idea! i love you all :)
> 
> next El Clásico is gonna be awesome and it's on October 25th, 2014  
> i hope you enjoyed reading this and i hope you make me know what you thought of it 'cause you're free to do so, down in the comments box, and i'm anxious to read it, so....
> 
> bonus!  
> song I was listening to while picturing the two football players walking through the club. kind of makes you want to tap your foot along it and dance (so you've been warned)
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=umxhhCYEkO8


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